Hermione Granger and the Future of Failure
by Gunwild
Summary: Story exploring the prompt to follow a character through their counseling session in 'Order of the Phoenix.' Hermione meets with McGonagall and Umbridge to talk about becoming an adult and why she's a 'special case.'


HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE FUTURE OF FAILURE

By Gunwild

Being punctual herself, Hermione valued this quality in others. At Hogwarts, where eccentricity might as well be part of the curriculum, one could count on having even the most cleverly-devised schedule decimated by lunchtime and forgotten entirely by dinner, whether or not they kept to it themselves.

In fact, the only people who could be relied upon to remain entirely on time were professors Binns and McGonagall – the former because as a ghost, he seemed to do nothing but teach and occupy a dusty armchair, and the latter because she, like Hermione, possessed a strong taste for order.

At the moment, being late for mandatory career counseling, the Transfiguration teacher was not living up to her record's standard of timeliness. Hermione could only ascribe it to the influence of Dolores Umbridge, who rumor had it would spend a good deal of every counseling session explaining to a student all the things she – and by extension the Ministry of Magic – believed they were suited for, and made it clear just how little their own ideas mattered. For herself, Hermione had already vowed not to take anything the vile woman said seriously and focus on the opinions of her actual teacher.

This seemed an even better plan when the professor swept into the empty classroom with her customary intimidating briskness, followed by the huffing, wheezing form of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

"Granger," said McGonagall, inclining her head briefly as she took her seat and opened a fat, battered book to its approximate center, extracting a sealed envelope. "Now, it is normally the policy to reserve this until after-"

"And that is what we'll do!" half-cried Professor Umbridge, struggling into her chair next to the unoccupied teaching desk and dropping a few tight-rolled scrolls of parchment in the process. "Since it is, as you said, policy!"

With a nearly imperceptible expression of annoyance, Professor McGonagall put the envelope in the book again, closed it and folded her hands. "Well then, we'd best move on to discussion. I should inform you first, Miss Granger, that your class grades show you to be capable of attaining most any job position you apply for and excelling in it, so whatever you've decided on should be well within your reach already."

Umbridge, though she was in the middle of trying and failing to gather up her dropped parchments, felt it necessary to lend some input. "That is not to say that we – and the Ministry – will not consider other factors in working out your career placement, such as attitudes or records of mischief, or subversive tendencies…"

"Actually, I mean exactly that," stated McGonagall, and went on before her colleague could intrude. "You have rare talent. After school I have no doubt you'll meet with success, but careful planning now will ease the transition into the next phase of your life." She looked over her sharp glasses, and Hermione was as worried as ever that her practiced answer was not the correct one.

Nevertheless, her hand stuck halfway up by reflex and she forced herself to speak. "I have a cause that's very important to me. Well, actually I have several, but I really think I can do some immediate good for this one. House-elves, you see, don't receive the kind of proper treatment they deserve. My plan is to create an organization, the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, which will free as many house-elves in Britain as possible in order to-"

Umbridge tittered meanly. Hermione might have pressed on regardless, but the titter became a chuckle, which rose into outright laughter. Soon it became obvious that Dolores Umbridge not only thought he idea of a pro-elf lobby was not merely absurd, but should be outright illegal. "Wait until I tell the Minister! In all my years I've never heard of such a ludicrous proposal! He'll put it down very fast, mark my words, as ensuring a house-elf workforce is within his purview. Do you have any serious plans, by chance? Ones that will take longer than a single misspent day?"

Certainly Hermione had not expected the prejudiced little horror of a woman to be impressed by S.P.E.W., but the derision still hurt. She looked over to Professor McGonagall for help, but there was none to be found. "She does have a point, Granger."

Crestfallen, she felt her own shoulder slump. "But… it would be just that? It would be over before it began?"

"You should realize that it needn't be the end to your goals." McGonagall rapped the book's cover smartly with her knuckles. "I do not treat my students better or worse based on outside considerations like their families or personal beliefs, as some teachers do," she glanced quickly in the direction of Umbridge, then straight down, as though at the dungeons, "And your commendations indicate problem-solving ability, a knack for applying a vast knowledge of various subjects. I believe that if you were to take this new information into account you might formulate an even better strategy. For example, most house-elves are not at present interested in freedom. They detest the idea because they have been taught to for generations. Instead of forcing freedom on them or tricking them into it – which, incidentally, is giving the one named Dobby serious trouble, since he must clean the common room alone – have you considered easing them into it? Educating, as it were?"

"Hermione was almost overwhelmed by this slew of new information. Were house-elves really told to loathe being masterless on principle? Could she still be going about this the wrong way? "How can I teach them anything, though, if they aren't already free?" Off to the side, Umbridge appeared totally disinterested in the conundrum, apparently satisfied that there was nothing to worry about.

"Rather," McGonagall said with a raised finger, "Than attempting to liberate elves you do not own, you could work on ones that you do own."

She was confused. "Do you mean… what do you mean, precisely?"

"I mean buy some elves, Granger. If they'll only listen to their master, then be that master and teach them better. To use an on truism, no one has ever won themselves a game of Quidditch by shouting from the stands."

At this point Dolores Umbridge was looking considerably less smug, as if she'd only just realized that this wasn't some sort of joke. "Excuse me, but are you attempting to subvert the Ministry's authority?"

"No," McGonagall assured her, "I have already succeeded."

Taken aback, at the frank defiance, Umbridge began furiously scribbling down notes on the outside of one of her scrolls, no doubt accounting all the infringements she was presently confronting on her various educational decrees.

"Is it right, though? To oppose something but take part in it?" Hermione didn't know if she'd be able to do that. It felt like betraying her principles. The book shifted in her lap as McGonagall stiffened even further than normal, preparing to explain something she no doubt felt was obvious. Hermione had seen her do this often whilst she engaged Ron or Harry in class. "The headmaster was once asked the same thing. By me. He said that it is the nature of conflict to make us question ourselves. That you do so means that your heart remains in the right place. If you do not lose that…"

"I am the headmistress!" announced Umbridge with an onset of fury. There was a handsome bust of a wizard named Blenheim Stalk next to her on the teacher's desk. As she stood up, raising her hands in some irate gesture or another, she struck it and it fell over, its nose snapping cleanly off. She winced at the pain in her hand, but went on complaining all the same. "And what I have seen here clearly demonstrates to me that this girl is unworthy of the school's aid!"

Plainly, there was a side to this conversation that Hermione Granger was not in the know about.

"You have not yet passed an educational degree that takes the commitment of scholarships out of my hands," Professor McGonagall stated. "A fateful lapse in judgment on your part. Since you cannot affect them retroactively, your disapproval will mean nothing once I hand Miss Granger this envelope." She offered it; though confused, Hermione clasped it between her thumb and forefinger in her own outstretched hand. It reminded her of the notice she'd received that she was wanted at a school for witches and wizards, with its medieval wax seal and rough surfaces. That made sense. This was official business.

For a long moment, Umbridge bit her lip, appearing eager to snatch the envelope away and – thanks to her toad-like appearance – eat it in a single gulp, if it would keep it away from the girl in front of her.

"Don't open it now," McGonagall advised, standing up already, though it felt like there was much still undone. "And do feel free to consult me again when you have some more time and we are not bound to be interrupted. I'm already aware that unlike your classmates you wish to take a full course load at N.E.W.T. level, but as you are a special case it would be wise to accept advice about how you will become a self-sufficient adult in wizarding society."

This was unexpected, and nearly unfathomable. "But what's special about me?" It came out so easily she was surprised to hear it from herself. Yet that was the truth, wasn't it? Harry Potter was a special case. The well-connected Malfoy was a special case. Even Ron, with his spread out but close-knit family was special when it came to school, since at any given time there seemed to be at least one Weasley here. Hermione achieved good marks, but that hardly made her special. Right?

"You are Muggle-born," the professor said, raising her chin. "And brilliant. You've been an asset to our school and will be a boon to the wizarding world. Enclosed in that is full reimbursement for your tuition at Hogwarts, plus extra to see to it that you get a fine start in life after graduation. It is supplied with our thanks, though you can only access it after the end of your seventh year. Do you understand?"

She was only able to nod, struck dumb. One of the few things her mother and father had actually spoken to her about as a problem with her school was its steep cost. Paper pounds did not go as far as golden Galleons, naturally, so it was not easy to pay for seven years of boarding, supplies and lessons with them. It was part of the reason she had, so long ago, determined herself to be successful – to make sure the investment was worthwhile. This scholarship would mean that it had been all along. "Thank… thank you."

Umbridge was gathering her things up, fuming over losing this battle and possibly about how she had been forced to carry so much unnecessary material. "By supporting her outrageous ideas, you've doomed this foolish girl to a future of failure. There is no way that the child's page in that book can warrant such a grand waste of funding. It's impossible."

Although she had been quite ready to move on to some other appointment by now, professor McGonagall stopped and trained her square spectacles on Umbridge's ragged face. "You're mistaken again, Dolores. This isn't the normal catalogue of student commendations." With a strength that was rather surprising for someone of her age and build, she raised the heavy book, flaunting its spine with a small but unmistakable look of pride.

Inlaid in the wide, dusty side were the words 'Student Records and Point Achievements: Hermione Jane Granger, Gryffindor'.

And under that, 'Volume Three'.

Quickly left by herself in the – what was it? The Muggle Studies classroom? She had by now quite forgotten where she was – Hermione turned the envelope over in her hands a few times. In the back of her mind she had always worried a bit about what it would be like to be an adult, about how she wouldn't have her parents to support her or understand what it meant to be a witch instead of a normal person in the normal world. She wasn't an 'honorary Weasley,' after all, as Ron sometimes proclaimed Harry to be. After graduation she'd have to teach herself to get by.

Hermione stood up, tucked her gift gently into a pocket of her school bag and decided to make use of one of the school owls forthwith. Her parents should see this right away. After all, in these worrisome times it wasn't every day one was brought a reason to feel good about the future.


End file.
